


cornucopia.

by pilynator



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, POV Second Person, Short & Sweet, but nothing too spicy, if that bothers you, rating is for some language and the i m p l i c a t i on, uhhh a lot of talk of food?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 06:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18889102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pilynator/pseuds/pilynator
Summary: You tried not to stare too much. You tried not to think about how pretty she looked with a light dusting of flour on her cheeks. You did it anyway.For a sensory prompt:‘the smell of freshly baked bread’. Jaehee/MC fluff.





	cornucopia.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [curiousdelights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiousdelights/gifts).



> Sometimes, you're drowning in so many WIPs and broken promises that you have to stop and make something short & simple to get back on track.
> 
> Yes, this is just a fancy excuse to knock out a ficlet that's just descriptions without feeling bad about it. Aya, hope you enjoy <3

Jaehee’s hand brushed over your knuckles as it maneuvered itself back to the chopping board, softly dipping in and out whenever it hit a bump and leaving feathery indents into your brain. There was a hint of something else in there. Something of a bird’s heartbeat in your rib cage, something of a wolfish patience in her spine. _Something like that_ , you thought, but your thoughts were hazy and half-baked and uncertain, little more than wisps of cotton candy fluff that melted away as soon as you tried to grasp at them.

‘Could you check on the bread please?’ Jaehee was looking at you again. The curve of her neck caught the light as she tilted her head, cutting a honeyed estuary down the side of her body. ‘I can smell it from here, so it’s probably done.’

When she moved back to her task, she did it with a small smile that made your heart flutter at the idea that it was meant for you. It was a good look on her. The motion had left behind deep shadows where her skin peeked through the iridescent halo, sun-kissed and inviting, and you greedily paused to drink in the image before heading for the oven.

You tried not to stare too much. You tried not to think about how pretty she looked with a light dusting of flour on her cheeks. You did it anyway.

If she noticed, Jaehee didn’t say anything. She had already gone back to dicing the tomatoes, something she’d taken full responsibility for after an unfortunate incident involving your fingers and marathoning Master Chef for two days straight. The scar was not the prettiest, and had taken a while to heal, but at least Jaehee had made good on her promise to kiss it better.

There were certain advantages to being accident-prone, it seemed. Being taken care of was one of them. Being relegated to baking duty was another. It was a pleasant way of spending an evening, an even more pleasant way of starting a day, and a fantastic way to get covered in ingredients and ask for help with getting cleaned up. Jaehee might one day begin to suspect the con, but she’d proven to be exceedingly lenient and not nearly as exasperated as she should have rightfully been.

Right next to the oven, the air steamed and kissed the tip of your nose and you leaned in quickly, ravenously, nostrils already flaring in anticipation. You didn’t have to wait for long – as soon as the door opened, you were blessed with the familiar sight of ciabatta rolls, neatly aligned in rows and baked to perfection. Wisps of steam rose demurely in the languid afternoon air, swaying gently past your shoulders and into the kitchen, where they eventually dissipated into nothingness and memory.

The fullness of the scent filled the space with a reckless, joyful abandon of flavour that melted away any tension and left behind a pleasant stillness. Behind you, a brief lull in chopping meant Jaehee had caught a whiff of your work and was taking a moment to bask in the satisfaction of a job well done. When you turned around to confirm it, you were surprised to hear her stomach give a weak rumble.

She blushed – a rosy-cheeked apparition with a knife in hand and wisps of hair framed against the sun like some kind of ancient harvest goddess. Like a nymph or fairy or one of them, one of those dangerous women who liked to dance naked in fields and made the grains grow plump, heavy, and golden on their stems. You weren’t too sure about the specifics, but the general outline of an idea was there.

You beamed at her. ‘You look great!’ After some consideration, you added: ‘I’ll never stop making bread for you.’

That second one got her. Jaehee’s features slipped effortlessly into cheerfulness and she leaned over the counter with her face between her palms. It gave her an air of girlish amusement that she only ever seemed to get when she was especially pleased with something. ‘That sounds lovely, but impractical.’

‘And that sounds just like me!’ Jaehee’s smile got bigger. It threatened to spill over into a laugh, but her stomach intervened anything could happen. ‘Olive oil? Balsamic?’ you suggested hopefully. You had been planning on bruschetta, but the possibility of dipping bread into anything always awoke a powerful primal force inside of you. A force that only ever wanted to rip bread apart and put it in things, but a force nonetheless.

‘Olive oil. And,’ Jaehee’s eyes glazed over with excitement, ‘some cheese? Goat’s cheese and …’ she trailed off shyly before rallying back – this culinary Valkyrie ready to make her demands known – and shooting a fiendish stage whisper your way, ‘honey. And walnuts.’

You whistled, impressed with her audacity. It was Saturday, of course, a day of decadence, but you hadn’t imagined that Jaehee would be aiming so high. ‘Bold choice. Mixing texture _and_ flavours?’

‘It’s Saturday,’ she shot back, as if that explained everything. Flicking a stray piece of garlic at your head, which Jaehee only ever did when she knew with absolute certainty she would not be the one doing the cleaning up, she pointed behind you. ‘Get the bread out and get the dip ready.’

A direct order? ‘Yes, ma’am.’ It had come out a bit whinier than you would have liked it – nasal, a bit less _come hither_ and a bit more _I have a stuffed nose_ – but it had the desired effect. Jaehee’s eyes locked onto yours and you could see the gears turning inside her head, weighing up the alluring promise of hot bread straight out of the oven against the questionable offer you were making.

Bread won. You supposed it was a compliment. Between the two of you, Jaehee was the better chef, the better baker, and also made a damn good coffee. Years of managing cat projects translated well to a hobby that depended on exact measurements and precise instructions, if only because that was the only way to keep a handle on the more outlandish of Jumin’s ideas.

She had a head start there, and oodles of talent, and passion enough to set the world on fire, but Jaehee always did say that she could taste the love in whatever you made. You made sure to pour all of it into your meal, hoping it was enough to make her understand how much you appreciated her. You hadn’t yet found a way to fully contain the layered richness of that feeling, but it couldn’t hurt to keep trying.

The lightly toasted ciabatta smelled even better than it had right out of the over – if that was even possible! – and the cheese was melted and full of promise. You both reached for a slice at the same time, and you made sure to keep your eyes on her as you took your first bite. The sweetness hit first, molten and warm like liquid sunlight dripping down the back of your throat. Then, the cheese – full-bodied, smooth, an opulent indulgence with a hint of summers past. You were fairly certain the small moan of pleasure you had made after swallowing your first bite would forever haunt your nightmares as an embarrassing aftertaste, but Jaehee didn’t seem to mind.

Like the harvest, she was merciful, and never left you wanting. When she leaned in to kiss the honey off your lips, you swore you could feel the ground flowering underneath your feet.


End file.
